


the revelation of truth begins with a cover

by sunnylittledragon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Blake's in denial, CIA AU, Doing this again and wanting to get it right, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Sexual Tension, Yang is still Yang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23178373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnylittledragon/pseuds/sunnylittledragon
Summary: Blake is confident she can do this. She knows of her skillset, her capabilities and how unmatched they are compared to her allies. The details she puts into her work ethic are unlike others. Stealth is her element, working undercover comes as naturally to her has breathing air, but it’s the idea of doing this with Yang that rubs grating like sandpaper against her nerves.“You want us to work together?” Yang questions with a palm up and moves forward.Blake’s eyes slide to her back and its broad lines, trying to ignore the yellow glint of Yang’s prosthetic.“That’s correct,”
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 16
Kudos: 139





	the revelation of truth begins with a cover

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided to redo this and fix certain things, add more scenes. I felt like I was rushing to get this out and so you guys didn't get what I am truly capable of. While doing a lot of extensive research for the "Language of Espionage" I realized just how similar the life of a Huntsmen and a Spy is, but still, I wanted to put my own little spin on things. Anyways, this was very fun I had a blast writing it and I hope you all enjoy.

Blake blows the steam away from her cup of herbal tea and tries her hardest to drown out the voices in passing that mumble of secret code, security direction, and the gathering of intel. The break room is usually empty around this time of day, cold and blank with switchable glass doors that turn opaque for privacy. They blur often, giving the base a hollow feeling that reminds Blake of her own emptiness. 

It’s still very early and while the Central Intelligence Agency was an organization of nonstop operation, Blake believed in quiet moments for a peace of mind, it helps her stay sane especially for a life like this. The importance of being a covert spy, that weighs down on her shoulders, down to the cords of her muscles, and to the marrow of her bones. 

The reports, data analyzing, and service all over the world, the hecticness of it grounds her, it keeps her focused and rewards her with purpose. 

It’s something she’d been looking for, for a long time in her life. 

“Miss Belladonna,” The doors hiss against the contact. “You’re due for your next mission briefing.” 

She nods a thank you and downs the rest of her tea in seconds, ignoring the burn and welcoming the warmth that spreads in her body. 

Under the instruction of James Ironwood, Clover Ebi oversees covert action and intelligence assistance. He’s their Case Officer who tells agents what missions they’re doing and how they are to get them done. Blake closes the door behind her as she enters and stares at the documents and yellow folders splayed out the top of his desk. 

Clover’s office is grey and clean. The air almost feels metallic in the way light gets trapped against the shine of his steel desk, reflecting a cold ambiance. Nothing covers his shelves, no pictures, no rewards or badges, just a sign embroidered with his name and Atlas’ emblem on a desk plank. 

“Goodmorning, Sir,” Blake says with a sharpness that isn’t at all militant like, but deliberate when her eyes land on his face. 

Her gaze hardens as Clover stands tall with his hands behind his back. “Goodmorning Agent Belladonna. Glad you’re on time. Though it seems we appear to be missing someone.” Clover sighs, and takes a seat calmly as if he expected this. 

“Someone...?” Blake asks, eyebrow raising. She can’t help the confusion that etches itself onto her face. Blake _only_ worked solo in all her missions. 

“Sorry, I’m late.” A voice big and blaring sounds from the doors, and a mass of blond hair barges into the office without care. 

Blake feels her world, in a moment, crashing down and tearing itself apart at the hinges. 

Yang Xiao Long. _Oh_. Blake did not, could not for the life of her stand Yang. The agent who was cocky beyond belief did not follow basic orders and overall had an air about her that was anything but serious. And while Yang was very good at what she did, with a decent track record, her way of working went against every protocol Blake had ever stood for. 

Blake’s eyes narrow in irritation when Yang grins in the direction their chief sits. 

“I swear Xiao Long if you weren’t one of our best...” Clover voices the empty threat and stops himself, but still, his lips tug upward. 

“If I may interrupt,” Blake injects, pulls the attention to herself, and tries to focus more on being polite and less on her apparent annoyance. “But this mission is about what exactly?” 

Clover’s face goes serious, eyes shifting between Yang and her, Blake fights the urge to look away and run towards the door. 

He pulls out a folder and on file is a picture of an older gentleman. “Your target is John Reeves. He is a merchant of approximately fifty-two years old. He owns a large shipping company at the border of Solitas. We have reason to believe that he is shipping illegal goods into the country, but this was only reported by a former employee and we have no hard evidence. You’re both aware of the sudden increase in crime in Anima, correct?” 

Blake nods, jaw clenched. 

Yang just crosses her arms, but at least she appears to be paying attention. 

“Up until now he has maintained a clean slate, there is no reason to believe he is acting outside the law but with dust robberies with tech way too advanced for civilization and his company being the only service for transporting goods we can’t rule him out. You are not to engage the target unless the situation calls for it, and then only if it is unavoidably necessary. We do not want him to know that we are investigating him.” 

Clover turns his attention solely to Blake and only Blake, she breathes out. “This is where you come in. It is a widely known fact that John’s son, Vaughn, a spoiled brat who gets whatever he wants, is also a widely known womanizer.” 

That revelation adds an ounce of tension amongst the three. Suddenly, Blake’s attentive of every little sound in the office. She can hear the low hum of the overhead lighting fixtures. The rhythmic breathing of Yang beside her, slow and steady. She can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds worth of explicit obscurity. But it doesn’t matter because Blake completely understands what is expected of her. 

“Our informant gave us a bit of useful information concerning both John and his son. It is all in this scroll,” Clover motions to a single scroll that lay on his desk. Blake hadn’t noticed it before. “Mr. Reeves is hosting a celebratory gathering in support of a warehouse opening up in Atlas. Blake's mission is to use Vaughn in order to get him to take her into their compound where operations are carried out.” He instructs, and then his jade eyes skate to Yang’s. 

“At that point, Blake is to neutralize him and Yang it’ll be your job to scout the compound for information about his father’s business. You are to stay on the lookout for any potential danger. And search for any anomalies.” 

“You want us to work together?” Yang questions with a palm up and moves forward. 

Blake’s eyes slide to her back and its broad lines, trying to ignore the yellow glint of Yang’s prosthetic. 

“That’s correct,” Clover says with a smirk playing on his lips, Blake wants to believe he’ll say he’s just joking next, but she knows her boss. “In a normal situation, Blake would be doing this mission by herself, however, we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with.” 

Blake is confident she can do this. She knows of her skillset, her capabilities and how unmatched they are compared to her allies. The details she puts into her work ethic are unlike others. Stealth is her element, working undercover comes as naturally to her has breathing air, but it’s the idea of doing this with Yang that rubs grating like sandpaper against her nerves. 

“Why us?” Yang asks, and Blake can’t help but unwillingly agree with the question and wonder why. 

“Well... with careful analysis you two are solely being paired up simply because of your strengths being so complementary on the field.” 

_Complementary?_

What did that even mean? 

Where Blake is silent and elusive, Yang is open and resolute. Brute force and a concealed sense of operation don’t mix. They are nothing more than two roads diverged in a wood, split at the root. Blake feels the muscles in her face working despite herself, pulling downward. Anger pulses in her veins, settling like needle pricks under her skin --they don’t complement each other. 

She opens her mouth to object, but Clover is quicker. “Then it’s settled, you two leave in two days' time.” 

And with that, they silently walk out of their boss’ office. In the corner of Blake’s eye, Yang looks very much like she wants to say something, and Blake is in no mood to listen to a snarky comment about them being paired together. 

Blake can feel those amethyst eyes burning holes into her side, and so she fully turns towards Yang, angry with just her mere presence. “Look, whatever it is you’re going to say just save your breath,” She replies and holds up a hand to cut Yang off. “I don’t need back up or anything. Just stay out of my way.” 

Apparently, boundaries need to be set if Yang thought this little mission meant they’d suddenly become best friends or something. And apparently either Yang doesn’t understand English or Blake’s threat is falling deaf to her ears because the way she turns fully to Blake, so casually, so cocky like she’s never been in the crosshairs of a sniper rifle before irks Blake’s soul. 

“Funny that you think I’m super thrilled to be partnered up with you.” Yang rolls her eyes dramatically but smirks after like she enjoys all of this, and it throws off the path that Blake’s blood pumps and sends it elsewhere. Down. Down. Down. “But if you find yourself in a bind, I might not be around to help.” 

Blake gapes. The nerve of Yang to think of her as helpless. She feels her blood run hot at their proximity, and cold at the profound _insult_ in Yang’s words. Yang bares her teeth in a grin too confident for Blake’s liking. She can feel the tension, alive and growing, she can taste the acid on her tongue as she bites back the desire to tell Yang to go to hell. 

And it’s then Blake realizes that can see the physical difference in their attitudes. Yang is powerful in the way she stands at ease, carelessly dangerous with a lick of flame in her eyes that only builds the more its fed. Blake finds herself wanting to sustain it but also to ignore it and watch it die out, she can’t tell which side is winning that battle. 

“I don’t need your help,” She lowers her voice like the tip of a blade against skin. “In case you weren't aware, you’re specifically supposed to keep watch of the perimeter and that’s it. Don’t think I’m not aware of your usual antics.” 

“Ah, so my reputation precedes me,” Yang says and leans lazily against a wall with her hands in her pockets and a faraway satisfied look on her face. 

“You should be ashamed.” Blake needles. 

Nothing seems to have an effect on Yang, not insults, not threats, she just seems like someone who is unbothered by a lot of things, and Blake knows it’s probably a crutch but she’s not invested enough to think about it further than that. 

Unfazed, Yang stares back. “I think the word you’re looking for is proud.” Yang grins and her tongue does some sort of sliding motion at the ends of her teeth. 

Blake pauses and rolls her eyes, completely over this conversation. “Whatever.” 

Blake shoulders her way towards her booth, away from Yang and the sound of her frenetic heartbeat drumming in her ears. If this is how working with Yang is going to be, she may have to write her resignation letter to their Case Officer. 

____ 

Blake approaches the doorway with practiced easiness as if being undercover was not an act but a chance to escape from being in her own skin. She had a legitimate invitation to the private party and Yang was nowhere in sight. They hadn’t spoken in those two days, in fact, they avoided each other, once Winter sent over a copy of the same documents in Blake’s scroll to Yang’s there was no need for a discussion. 

“Invitation, please.” The bouncer asks, all business-like, but still unable to stop himself from eyeing Blake’s figure. 

Blake had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. 

Men. So typical. A little bared skin and they were reduced to vapid savages. 

At least with this look, she knew that she’d be able to catch Vaughn’s attention as well. 

“Enjoy your night Miss.” His suave tone did nothing for her as she walks through the large golden encrusted double doors. 

Once inside, the first part of Blake’s task was to find her target. Her eyes scanning the crowd leisurely. She knew what Vaughn looked like, and where to find him, she had narrowed it down to either the VIP section where woman of all sorts exited and entered or near the expensive looking glass bar tucked far off in a corner. 

Blake takes in every detail possible within a two second time frame with calculated eyes and commits it to memory. 

There he was. 

His medium-brown hair was slightly ruffled, and he had a faint lipstick stain on the side of his neck. He had a glass of liquor in one hand and another unsteady against the flat of the bar. If he was already as intoxicated as he looked then this was going to be the easiest mission ever. 

And then he looks directly at her. Right in her gold eyes. 

Blake holds his gaze. Confident. There was nothing more to suggest that he had caught her interest and that was exactly what she was betting on. She pulls her gaze away and weaves through the crowd until she finds an empty stool directly next to him. Ignoring him completely, feigning aloofness, she orders a shot of tequila to the bartender and rests her chin on her hands. 

This is all second nature to her, it’s not her fault that the atmosphere of it all makes her feel more alive than ever. It’s her element and she’s got it down to a science, there are many steps to approach this and Blake’s invented all of them. 

“You all alone?” Blake doesn’t look his way when he talks. 

“Unfortunately.” She sighs and nods her head in thanks when her drink is in front of her. 

“Want some company?” Said voice offers. 

“Yeah, sure,” Blake replies dismissively and doesn’t take the shot, it’s all for appearances. 

“Hi, I’m Vaughn.” He says with a blindingly white smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, Blake’s too perceptive to not see through the bullshit, it always goes like this. 

“Vaughn Reeves,” She says and takes his clammy hand in hers. “Your father has certainly outdone himself with all this.” She motions to the large expanse of the ballroom. 

“Oh, well, yeah. I suppose he has.” And then he becomes strangely silent, Blake knows for a fact that her mentioning his father’s success struck a nerve, which was exactly what she was aiming for. To knock him off his so-called pedestal that he paraded on so proudly and make him realize that none of this was truly his. 

How easy it was to ruffle his ego. He surely did not have the bravado that Yang did. 

_Wait_ _,_ _what?_

“So... why are you alone? You don’t seem like the type of girl that would lack company.” He interrupts her muddled thoughts and speaks as if he knows her, and it aggravates the hell out of her. 

Her mind reels. She blinks, swallows her distaste and carries on. “Sadly, men seem to be intimidated by women in my profession.” 

“And what profession is that?” Vaughn inquires. 

“Asking for my life story and you haven’t even gotten my name yet?” She teases sultry, for sure knowing playing hard to get is the best route for a man of his competency, no matter how much it makes her stomach flip into itself. 

“You’re feisty... I like you.” He leans forward in his seat. His tone as serious as his gaze – smoldering with heat – holds hers for a long while, as if this was how he got women in bed all the time. 

“Why don’t we find someplace private.” Her voice trails, as she let her eyes drift further down the bar and lines crease as time stands still. She lays her eyes on blond hair that could only belong to the one person she really didn’t expect to see here. 

_Yang?_

What the hell was she doing here? 

Suddenly, waves, undulating waves –liquid, uneven, emulous waves wash over her leaving her skin feeling prickly cold. Yang was obviously watching between her and Vaughn. What, did she think Blake was not capable of doing her task without being monitored? After she had literally threatened to Yang to stay out of her way, and now she was taunting her by being in her line of sight. 

She turns to Vaughn, her vision blurry and uncertain. “I –if you could just give me a moment, I’ll be back in two seconds, okay?” She can’t turn the seductive act on, not when she’s seething inside, and her attention is entirely too focused on Yang. 

“Right. I’ll be here.” Either Vaughn has picked up on the shifted mood or he’s confused either way, he says nothing about it. 

Blake was out of her seat, not a second sooner, moving through the mass of people. The anger behind her eyes forming white hot little dots in her vision, she tries to even it out with every step she takes, prays she’ll keep her composure for the sake of the mission. 

Yang is sitting at the bar with her back turned, half-empty drink in her left hand. Still, Blake is wise enough to know not to approach Yang directly, so she simply brushes past Yang as though she were accidentally bumping her. Yang turns around and their eyes meet, darkness settles on the roofs and walls, closing in on them like the beginning of an imminent doom. 

“So sorry.” She chimes politely, while at the same time indicating with her eyes for Yang to follow her. 

Yang nods once and returns to her drink. 

If Yang understands what Blake is getting at, then she won’t come straight away but follow eventually when it was no longer suspicious to do so. 

Blake rounds a corner into what appears to be a deserted hallway and waits. She counts to sixty-three when Yang finally shows up. 

“What are you doing here?” She blurts in a hushed whisper. 

Yang smirks, and Blake’s eyes trail her form against her wishes, the devil herself cleans up nicely. Donning black cut slacks, a silk dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and the top three buttons were undone exposing a window of cleavage. Blake roughly swallows. 

“I’m having a drink,” Yang responds, holding up her glass all calm and collected. 

“Oh, please. You’re watching me!” 

The smirk stays plastered on her smug face. “If you already knew then why did you ask to meet me here?” 

Blake grounds her teeth together. “You know why.” Yang’s expression is still calm, almost detached in the way she shrugs. 

“All I know is that you’re using me as a distraction while Vaughn sits twiddling his thumbs. You have him where you want him, right? Go get him,” Then her face shifts almost comical as if a realization has hit her. It’s all fake, Blake can see through it. “Unless... he’s just not your type.” Yang sneers in a voice unlike her usual carefree self, it’s low and somewhat sounds like it knows more than it should. 

And it’s not the out of character-ness that sets Blake off but it’s the audacity that Yang thinks she knows what the hell she’s talking about. 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Blake chides. 

And then where Yang was once relaxed had changed, instantly like a switch. She was serious now. Dead serious. Her shoulders were taut by the ropes of muscle that pull them upright. Her lilac eyes bore into Blake’s with an intensity that no one has ever looked at her like before. 

“No, Blake. I think that question is meant for you. Why are you risking your cover meeting me here? Now’s not the time for fake toilet runs.” 

Blake’s anger rises again, unrelenting. “Me risking the mission. I’m not the one who crashed the party. You have no right to be here.” 

Then Yang pushes forward, with her free hand and lays it flat on the wall beside Blake’s head, her other hand idly swirling her drink, the glass casting warped reflections of light against her face. Yang lowers her face until it was level with Blake’s as she stares unflinchingly into blown amber eyes. 

“I have every right to be here. I have my invitation, my name is on the list, and orders from the higher-ups,” Yang’s voice drops even lower, and so does Blake’s aggression. “Don’t mistake my judgment for the sake of your pride.” 

Blake was caught, enraptured in the strength of Yang’s gaze. Stuck, like the ground opens and swallows her underneath it. An air of awestruck expectation replaces Blake’s urge for a fight and instead, she feels her throat constrict and all she can do is try to remember how breathing works. Blake didn’t even care why Yang was here anymore because how the fuck was she supposed to seduce someone else when all she could think about was the person in front of her? 

“I...” Blake swallows once, hard, Yang’s eyes boldly follow the movement her throat makes. “I should be getting back.” 

Yang holds Blake in place for another long agonizing moment, almost as if she’s considering staying in this position forever, at least until the end of time. Blake waits, there’s an imperceptible force tugging their bodies closer, the heat of Yang striking like an impulse. Despite everything, Yang steps away and stalks back into the party. 

“Are you alright?” A woman standing at the entranceway to the bathroom asks. 

Blake shrugs off her unease and possible arousal and offers her a tentative smile. “Yeah. Ex-girlfriend.” That seemed to be an adequate explanation. No matter how wrong it is. 

“So, she’s single?” 

_Nice to know you were so concerned._

She should have expected that. 

“No, she’s not anymore, sorry.” 

____ 

When Blake had pictured an ‘illegal warehouse’, this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. She was thinking multiple guards, high-tech security systems and an air of mystery that promised a multitude of hidden secrets. 

There were guards and there were security systems, but all the guards she and Vaughn walk past smiled in ways that held no sense of suspicion or criminal activity. Still, she needed to find where the shipped goods were kept and to see if they were illegal weapons hidden in plain sight. She needed hard evidence to confirm if John Reeves was part of a cartel exchange or not, and if he wasn’t then the CIA would leave him be. 

Vaughn is persistent when he’s tipsy, his hands don’t leave her sides when he drags her down the corridor and his touch is rough and clumsy. She watches Vaughn press his hand against a sensor pad, watches it determined his identity, and the heavy metal door slides open. He pulls Blake into a large dark room; it’s so vast she can’t exactly tell where it ends. 

(But she could see exactly what was inside.) 

Without a second thought, Vaughn pushes Blake up against a stack of crates and is mauling her neck sloppily with his tongue, lips, and teeth, one of his hands was already trying to slide her dress strap off her shoulder. He mumbles something graphic against her skin and Blake can resist no more, her patience unfolding and dispersing like when a high tide crashes at shore. 

“Goodnight, Vaughn.” She whispers. 

He looks up at her, his eyes hot, hungry and utterly confused. “What?” 

And then she hits a pressure point on his neck that has his body going limp and dropping to the floor like a rag doll. Blake pulls her dress strap back in its rightful place on her shoulder and gets to work. Now, it was time for the lengthy search. 

All the crates were large and wooden, nailed shut on each corner. They all looked the same size with only writing that was spray painted on saying either ‘fragile’ or ‘handle with care’. All words that Blake didn’t give a damn about, especially not when the goods were right in front of her. She searches the room, left and right, looking for something like a crowbar all while aware she’s running out of time the more she stands around. 

Blake is fully capable of improvising, strategies come to her pretty easily but, this is the first time where she feels like she’s actually backed against a wall with no solution. There’s something about not being able to complete this particular mission that doesn’t bode well with Blake. It’s an obscure awareness that sets off her determination to get the job done. 

Failure was not an option. She can’t be seen to sweat, can’t be shown to struggle as time continues to dwindle down and she still has no plan. 

Suddenly, firm hands grab her from behind. She could so easily throw this heavy, pressing weight off her and be free of it, but strangely her instincts don’t kick in to retaliate, she knows who it is. 

Blake could not for the life of her explain how she knows it’s Yang, she just does. And that knowledge was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Like some kind of energy that was neither solar, fusion, or magnetic but a combination, and she wanted to deny it to its bitter end. 

Yang spins her around, her grasp solid on Blake’s shoulders as she scans over her with worry so apparent Blake could see the letters. A warmth settles over her, fluttering, she doesn’t like it. Blake begins to feel self-conscious in Yang’s eyes. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.” Blake says and then pushes Yang’s hands away. 

“Where’s Vaughn?” Yang asks and slowly she straightens up. 

“Didn’t you see him passed out by the door on your way in?” 

“I didn’t come in by that door,” Yang replies evenly. 

“Then how did you get in?” 

Yang shakes her head. “That’s not important. What is important is that people are looking for Vaughn and they’re going to come in here any second and they aren’t going to be happy when they find him passed out on the floor. It’s time to go.” 

“Wait,” Blake stops, plants her feet firm when Yang tries to pull her one direction. “See if you can open one of these.” She pulls at Yang’s forearm. 

Yang stares long and hard at the crate before doing what she’s told. Using the tips of her fingers to grip the ridges of the first case in front of her. She grits her teeth and pulls harshly with a grunt and wood splinters with a snap when it’s ripped away from the nails holding it down. 

Inside is an assortment of guns, rocket launchers, grenades, and ammunition all packed together neatly with indented dark Styrofoam. Yang pulls out her scroll, takes a few photos and forwards them back to Winter. John Reeves was guilty of the shipment of stolen goods, case closed, they had everything they needed but their mission was only half done. At some point, they could celebrate the victory but for now, they needed a clean getaway. 

“Okay.” 

Quickly, Yang pulls at Blake’s wrist and starts tugging her the opposite direction she had entered the room. And then Blake’s ears point, pick up the sound of rowdy voices. They were going to get found out if she didn’t do something fast. She doesn’t think, she moves like a flash when she pushes Yang back, the momentum so strong that Yang stumbles behind an array of crates and boxes. The space being just big enough to hide one person and... 

Blake drops herself directly on top of Yang, her thighs clamped around Yang’s waist and her hands are gripping the fabric of Yang’s dress shirt. Blake could feel Yang inhale sharply and hold it beneath her fingers, and Yang’s heart was pounding as rapidly as her own. And hands -- Yang’s -- were gripping her waist while the other was cradling Blake’s head to stay hidden. 

They stay dead silent as flashlights scour the area over them, searching but never landing directly on them. 

It’s relieving when they leave, how their footsteps fall deaf to Blake’s ears, and she would relax if she couldn’t feel every inch of Yang that was touching her. The shift of Yang’s fingers is distracting as they slide down and brush over the junction of her thigh and waist. 

Blake breathes in and out. It’s hard to do, very hard, but the difficulty is familiar because it only happens whenever Yang is around. Her body wants something, and she’s denying it. The itch of it, the pressure of it, across the front of her torso, down through the muscles of her stomach, into her pelvis. It feels like she’s holding her breath for a few seconds longer than is entirely comfortable. 

Yang turns her head, bringing her lips right next to Blake’s ear. “Blake, what is this?” She sounds like sex and ashes. And to make sure Blake understands exactly what she was asking, her hand wraps around the object through the fabric of her dress. 

Damn. 

Blake knows Yang _knows_ what it is. Knows she’s nowhere near unintelligent, yet Yang’s insistent oblivious prodding still rips a small gasp out of her throat. It’s such a split-second reaction, that Blake hadn’t taken anything into consideration. But now, _oh now_ , Blake is beginning to unfold like the bellows of an accordion. Surrendering, to the heat of Yang, the same heat that mocks Blake brazenly when she realizes herself, she’s unmistakably wet. 

It was utter torture. 

And she never wanted it to end. 

“D-don’t act like you don’t know.” Blake doesn’t like that she’s breathless, she doesn’t like how Yang’s touch makes her see distant stars, how gravity pulls them even closer and sets her ablaze, it’s happening, and she can’t stop it. 

“This...” Yang rasps and moves her hand under Blake’s dress where the pocketknife lay tucked. “Could have blown your cover.” Her fingers clasp around the metal, but her thumb is driving dangerous patterns against the lace of her underwear. 

_Oh._

Right. They were literally in the middle of a mission, but damn it, if Yang just moved her hand a little more to the left, she’d... 

“I have an idea.” 

One second, she was pressed up against Yang in the most intimate way possible, quite literally ten seconds away from what she thought was being deliciously fucked and the next she was flailing against the air underneath her. 

Blake looks up at Yang in bewilderment and subtle disappointment. Clearing her throat and smoothing her dress back down over her thighs. She watches Yang as she heads to the first door Blake came from, using said knife to, what looked to be hacking into the sensor pad. Yang pops the panel off, jerks a few wires around, pulls a few out, and reconnects a few more and then, miraculously, the door slides open with a smooth hiss. 

They cautiously move down the various hallways, gradually trying to get closer to their desired destination –the party. 

Unexpectedly, Blake halts, putting her hand on Yang’s shoulder. Her amber eyes glance around briefly but frantically until her gaze settles on a hallway off to their right. Yang gets the message quickly, allowing Blake to lead the way. 

The hallway couldn’t really be considered a hallway. It wasn’t long enough. It was really just a small passageway to another room. Yang’s eyes shift to another sensor pad and her stance tenses. 

Sensing Yang’s concern, Blake tries to placate her. “Just do that thing you did before.” 

“We don’t have time. That took minutes.” Yang says and runs a hand through her hair in frustration. 

Blake can hear growing footsteps, two, a pair were closing in fast. “They’re coming.” 

And then Yang stops, looks at Blake so intensely there was no way to understand what conclusion Yang had reached, because judging by the determination on her face she had obviously reached one. She moves forward, and Blake stands straighter waiting for some kind of signal that she never gets. 

“Just follow my lead.” 

And then Yang dips her head, swiftly cups Blake’s jaw and brings her mouth down on hers. 

Her eyelids flutter shut before her mind has time to react with what exactly was happening. Then her hand comes up to grab the back of Yang’s neck, and then the pressure of Yang’s mouth disappears for a second when Blake feels her back hit the smooth, metal door behind them. Yang brings her lips to Blake’s ear, at first, she says nothing, does nothing, but breathes like air is being stolen from her lungs. 

Blake needs Yang’s lips back on hers, searching her lips graze the side of Yang’s face but Yang shifts away. Instead, Yang does something much more devastating, she runs her tongue from the base of Blake’s earlobe to the tip and then right back down again. “Kiss me like you want me.” She urges, rightfully lost in the lust. 

Like she _wanted_ Yang? She wasn’t sure if she had ever not wanted Yang. 

And then Blake’s lips are on Yang’s again, slow and soft, with Yang’s body was pressing against hers, hands grasping and lifting above their heads, up until their fingers were intertwined. The security and confidence, it was the most lethal combination Blake had ever experienced. 

The searing heat begins. It starts like a small flicker in her belly, steady and careful, and then Yang’s tongue slides against her own and the flicker turns into a flame, it gets better when Yang’s presses her harder against the door, and it turns into an everlasting hellfire. 

Action, reaction, and imitation. That was the extent of their kisses. If Yang slanted her mouth against Blake’s, she would mirror without thought, and then Yang bites down on her bottom lip and tugs it between her teeth... 

Blake moans. 

Never in her life would she have imagined her expertise of seduction would be used against her. How Yang turned her on in ways that were wreaking havoc to her body and her sanity. All Blake wants is Yang. On top of her, below her, behind her, inside her, she wants every part of Yang for herself. It’s alarming but not at all surprising how these thoughts excite her more than they scare her. 

She’s barely aware of a bright light being shined in their general direction. 

Yang notices it too because she pulls her mouth away, but not her body as she uses it to shield Blake away from most of the brightness. 

“Hey, what are you two doing down here?” A gruff voice sounds from behind the light. 

“Kiss my neck,” Yang mumbles. 

Blake barely registers Yang’s words as her eyes widen. “Kiss your –what?” 

“Just do it!” 

Hesitantly, Blake presses her lips against the smooth curve of Yang’s neck, who turns her head to face the guards. And then she understands why Yang had suggested it, they had to appear as though they were mindless with desire, too caught up in each other to focus on the outside world and instead wanted nothing more than to screw the second they could find privacy, and while Blake _certainly_ wanted nothing more than that, she had to express it. 

She opens her mouth and moves her tongue against Yang’s skin. She can vaguely hear Yang talking to the man behind the light, the words ‘ _kinda_ _busy here_ ,’ make sense to Blake but she’s more focused in the way Yang snarls, sounding irritated. Blake takes it upon herself to smooth over those hard lines with a roll of her tongue over the spot under Yang’s jaw. She feels rather than hears the sharp intake of breath, she’s aware of Yang’s hands digging into her waist but it’s not enough to get her to stop. 

In fact, her hands seem to move on their own accord, away from Yang’s neck, down, under Yang’s arms to flatten against her back. Blake won’t deny that she likes Yang’s back, the firmness of it and the slight concave of her spine and the muscles that flinch under her touch. 

“Easy...” Yang warns lowly so only she can hear and pulls back slightly. She gets that she should probably be paying attention to what the guards are saying and assess the situation, but her mind and body aren’t working together right now. 

“You’re more than a little busy, I’d say,” A second voice that Blake hadn’t heard before teases, and she remembers exactly where she is and what she is doing, and so she stops. 

“Yeah, so if you would be so kind as to leave us alone that’d be great,” Yang says bluntly. 

“Normally, we would, but we can’t right now. There’s been an infiltrator that harmed Vaughn and we are evacuating the building.” The first voice says. 

“Alright give us a moment. It won’t take long.” Yang says, and the thugs saunter off, not before giving Blake and Yang another glance over their shoulders. 

When Yang finally turns back to Blake there is silence and darkness, the air is still hazardous, heady and thick but uncertain bundled up all in one. 

Remember to look surprised, Blake tells herself, remember to look afraid and ashamed and taken aback by this brand-new thing. 

“So, um...” Blake flushes, at a loss, her craving for Yang not entirely evened out. “What should we do now?” 

Yang doesn’t answer, at least not with words, she just kisses Blake again. Harder this time. Their mouths tangling again. Stars erupt behind her eyes. This could have happened in a lot of ways. But this is the way it happens, and it leaves Blake in the middle of hot and cold. 

Yang kisses Blake as though she wanted to devour her, inch by inch, piece by piece, as their mouths grow more and more insistent, Yang’s hands start to mark their own paths. First, they stroke up Blake’s sides and lift her up slightly, then they're on the curve of her ass gripping the flesh with intensions Blake’s very much ready for, Yang keeps Blake in place by forcing a thigh between her legs. 

The heat within her explodes, sends her trembling, the pressure is so good it tugs at Blake's heart. 

Suddenly, Blake’s grasping at Yang, desperate to touch her. She pulls Yang’s shirt out of her dress pants and slides her hands under the frustratingly present material to feel the smooth, sinewy skin of Yang’s back. Yang’s groans deep in her throat and responds by moving a hand down to the underside of Blake’s thigh, hoisting it up. Blake doesn’t miss a beat, she immediately wraps her leg around Yang’s hips, bringing them closer. 

It’s a different effect with the thrumming warmth from Yang’s mouth moving against hers, setting off every nerve, letting it settle in the pit of her stomach and stay there, churning. Yang slides down her neck, mouth sucking like she intends to leave marks. The way Yang presses her tongue against Blake’s pulse makes her moan even louder, and she isn’t even ashamed of it. She couldn’t care less as long as Yang kept doing that. 

“ _Fuck._ ” Blake hears Yang swear and that’s exactly what she wants. 

Blake needs Yang to do everything to her. 

So, she does. Quickly, Yang drops to her knees. “I can’t stop. Blake, if you don’t...” She trails when their eyes meet, pupils dilated, and Blake knows Yang can see the unmistakable longing for her in them. Yang gives her one last chance to abandon ship. “Tell me you don’t want this.” 

“I–” Blake can’t find the right answer in the haze. 

“Tell me to stop,” Yang begs, as she hitches Blake’s dress up to her waist, spreads her just a little and kisses her inner thigh. 

Blake’s head lurches back against the metal door. “I _can’t_.” 

Whether or not if it’s clear, it’s permission, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Blake is worried this could mean she’s in love or something close to it. Maybe it’s deeper than that. And now Blake wants to run from the truth, hide from the truth, deny and avoid the truth because she knows she can’t destroy it. The truth is this had been boiling over since the day she met Yang at the agency. 

“ _Blake? Yang_ _?_ ” Their intercoms go off. It was Clover. “Where are you? The guests are being evacuated and you’re not among them. What’s your status? Is something wrong?” 

Oh, something was wrong, alright. Everything was wrong. 

The realization hits them instantly, that exact moment had reality come crashing down with the weight of the world. They just stare at each other – blankly, wordlessly – the position they were in, how one of Blake’s hands were tangled in Yang’s locks and Yang, on her knees, jaw clenched and debating whether to stop completely or risk the entire mission. It isn’t until Clover’s voice cracks over their intercoms once again that everything snaps. 

“If you two don’t answer I’m going to send in the Ace Ops.” 

Then they share a look of horror. That absolutely could not happen. 

Yang stands to her full height, Blake’s dress falls back down as she turns away from Blake to press her finger against the appropriate button on her ear com. 

The warmth fades, their distance widens, and Blake feels like everything in that moment had never happened. A memory, real or imagined, that Blake would never be able to get out of her mind. It makes her chest tighten and burn with a confliction that almost seems dramatic, it’s the nerves kicking in and the arousal wearing off. 

“We’re _fine_.” Yang’s voice is curt. Hopefully, their boss won’t notice over the static. “We’re coming now.” 

“Affirmative.” And the line goes dead. 

Blake leans her head back against the cool metal that supports her body and shuts her eyes, thinking, thinking, and yet unable to form a single thought. 

She hears Yang exhale deeply. 

“Blake...” 

Yang’s voice is so incredibly heavy, burdened with that which she could never hope to guess. And yet she understands everything Yang means with that one word –her name, falling through the air between them, helpless by the weight of what they would never have. 

“I know,” She replies, faintly realizing her voice was as heavy as Yang’s. 

They would leave it at that. 

\---- 

The success of their mission had gotten them both promoted to higher ranks. Now, Blake helps train spies working behind enemy lines in communications. Secret quotas and meeting points to ensure benefits and increase success rates. It’s a new position that requires a lot more paperwork, but it helps her stay busy. 

A couple of days pass and the next time Blake sees Yang is in the conference room. It’s not on purpose. She needs to print out a few pages for her reports. And she has no idea why Yang is here. 

Some say, ‘silence is golden’ (which is ironic to Blake in every way), but in this situation silence was red hot and ice-cold blue. Red was for Yang’s pupils, and the strained want swirling behind them. Blue was for the tint of Blake’s skin for her held breath. This room was much too small, and feelings were far too great to fit in one space. Everything was purple and eluding one another was pointless. 

The printer clicks on to its desired setting, it begins printing ten pages. A gentle low hum. Sputtering up inky words against bone straight sheets of paper in a rhythmic pace. 

Blake feels the pricking at her skin, all the way to the palm of her hand. _Come on,_ her body says _, come on._

“Um, hi.” She says apprehensively. 

Blake’s never been one of those women trip over her own feet when her heart stammers against her ribcage, never wanted to be. She used to walk in the cool of the yew trees in Menagerie when she was a child, placing each foot so carefully, pretending that if she took one wrong step the roots would curl up through the earth and grab her. 

Now she was lost in her longing to understand all of this. 

“Hey... uh, I was just looking for... Clover.” Yang speaks like she’s scared of sending Blake running, closer or farther, she can’t tell. 

“Oh, well... he’s not here.” It’s obvious but Blake is trying to fill the awkward cracks with some form of conversation. 

She waits. Yang does nothing, but Blake can tell in the way she stands, hands clenched into fists and her shoulders hunched, she’s waiting for something too. The whirring of the printer cuts off. It pushes the last page out -- dings -- and then it’s completely silent. 

Blake couldn’t avoid the fact that she couldn’t avoid Yang. No matter how much she tried, where the attraction of gravity is less, does not weigh half a ton, it would still pull her in despite everything. It was killing her slowly on the inside. She hated it. She hated the fact that she knew it wasn’t right or professional to want Yang –and to have to see her all the time. It just wasn’t fair. 

Blake wordlessly gatherers the small stack of papers and hurriedly stuffs them into her folder. She tries to shuffle past Yang, who miscalculates and sidesteps in the same direction Blake was trying to leave in. Blake nearly bumps into Yang’s chest. 

“S-sorry.” They both mumble in unison. 

Blake looks up and gasps, completely startled by their closeness. Her blood freezes as Yang stares down at her, eyes going from her parted lips back up to Blake’s wide gold irises. She looks dangerous and attractive, bangs sweeping low over her face and Blake tries not to think about Yang on her knees. She can sense the change in the air, her body tensing tighter than ever before like an impulse to pull your hand back before you struck it in a fire. 

A knock on the door. A handler peeks his head inside. He makes no comment of the flood of papers on the floor, nor does he pay attention to the absolute wreck that Blake and Yang appear to be in. Stammering out apologies like it’s the only words they know and hastily picking up the now creased sheets of Blake’s report. 

“Ms. Xiao Long, Clover is ready to speak with you on your requisition.” 

Yang stands notably straighter, creating more than enough distance from Blake to raise suspicion. “Yeah, uh, I’ll be there in a second.” 

Yang follows shortly before the door closes completely. 

Her heart pounds with her first taste of abandon. The ringing comes to Blake’s ears again, familiar, like the static of Clover on their intercoms and her vision blurs. 

____ 

The second Yang had been given approval, she chooses to leave with a special request to be sent on a month-long mission in Mistral. 

Blake was going through it now. Holed inside her apartment for weeks, and only really leaving if work called for it. Yang was obviously avoiding everything that had happened. Avoiding her. 

Blake is angry, upset, depressed and all the above. Her mind rudely reminds her exactly why she always chose to work alone, but it wasn’t like she anticipated falling in love with Yang. She realizes it was like looking into the sun –you shouldn’t do it, because you turn your face away and become blind to everything else. It happened and she tells herself this every time as if it’ll help mend the pain of missing her. 

Ever since the kiss, what could have been mind-blowing almost sex and the whole printing debacle, their relationship had changed drastically. Those days, still taunt Blake like the vestiges some gloriously cruel fantasies. Memories too real, the feeling too present to ever really be forgotten. It replays in her subconscious in vivid detail, unbidden, at times whenever Blake let her guard down. 

What Blake originally thought was pure unadulterated hatred for Yang had quickly tempered away with every heated kiss, every bold touch, and every gnawing impulse telling her to give in to it. Growing into love, something which could have been so very real on both ends was now _nothing_ but a pretense. 

Her work greatly suffers. Her sleep patterns shot, and she’s just not up for doing more than the bare minimum. 

Blake looks over and thinks about the empty side of her bed. Imagination was a powerful thing, and Blake’s was no exception. In Blake’s mind, her sheets were caresses and open arms, and a pillow was a warm body. 

She hugs the soft pillow. Her lithe legs wrap around the thin texture. Blake rubs and pulls at it. Her fingers ghosting over the hem as she imagines the smooth line of a back. Yang’s back. Yang had a beautiful body, strong lines and smooth curves and Blake only wishes she could have it here and now so she wouldn’t feel so alone. 

She wants Yang so badly it hurts. 

The quick two buzzes from her scroll breaks her away from her thoughts, Blake’s head snaps up from the pillow she had been clutching. 

It’s a text message, which is alarming in itself. One, she had no mission briefings until next week. Two, Clover _always_ without question, calls. She opens her scroll and the message is just an address from an unknown number. 

Once again, it’s suspicious. No one has her phone number, it’s general protocol that Affiliates were to refrain from outside communication to protect their identities, and she doesn’t recognize the sets of numbers that messaged her. 

There were obviously two options to this series of strange events, this could obviously be a trap. Someone baiting her to finish a job that was long overdue. Blake knows the bounty over her head is high even as a covert operative. It’s just something that comes with the lifestyle or maybe it’s... 

She feels something open up inside herself, her heart heaves against her chest. For the first time in what’s felt like forever, Blake feels reckless and spontaneous. Alive. This feeling pulls at her in a way the force of gravity has tried its hardest to do. 

Blake breathes out. 

____ 

The numbers read “612” carved in gold plating just above the peephole on the large mahogany door. This apartment complex is a little on the shadier part of Mantle. Her knuckles rap, anxiously, against the wood. She waits, courage is the muscle she works night and day and right now she feels she’s overexerted herself. 

A series of clicks, and locks accent against the walls and down the vacant hall and the door opens. 

Blake feels like she’s in the eye of a storm, the place where everything was unnaturally still and calm, when her eyes land on Yang’s, it’s a dull crash through her body, a beat, a vibration she knows instinctually. Yang’s there and the knowledge makes her pulse speed up. 

“I–” 

“Shh,” Yang puts a finger to her own lips and grabs at Blake’s wrist, not before looking down the hallway in both directions before hurriedly ushering Blake in. 

The air is significantly warmer than being outside in the hallway. Blake looks around, taking in the place that Yang lived in, and it’s insane to believe that this place just screams ‘Yang’ when she’s never been here before. The towering walls are a combination of oranges and browns, covered with picture frames of people Blake doesn’t know. There’s one of a girl dressed in a red hoodie, Blake’s eyes settle on the image and stay there. 

“Sorry about that,” Yang responds, pulling Blake out of her trance. 

She snaps her head towards Yang and gawks. “You’re hurt.” The worry makes itself apparent in her voice. 

Still, Yang is all smiles even with the large bloodied bandage that sits messily on her shoulder. She’s wearing a black sports bra and thick grey sweats and Blake doesn’t want to entertain the thought of how inviting she looks. “It’s just a scratch. I swear the bullet only grazed me.” Yang stands tall with her hands up as if anticipating an interrogation. 

Okay, now Blake was definitely more scared than upset. The anger was still there for reasons, simmering beneath the surface of her skin, but the fear weighed much heavier. A scowl draws on Blake’s face when she sees just how unperturbed Yang is about being _shot_ at, and she crosses her arms over her chest in placid irritation. 

Blake has so many questions she wants to ask, questions she doesn’t know when will ever be the right time to unpack. Yang is here and hurt and Blake can’t deal with the implications that this could have been so much worse. “How long have you been back?” 

“A few hours ago. I was kinda on the run before I lost the Sleepers in Haven.” 

“ _A few hours_?” Blake repeats in disbelief, the anger is starting to come alive again at Yang’s carelessness and her reluctance to seek medical help. “You need to get this cleaned up.” 

And then Yang’s body language changes, Blake feels it in a flash, the coral walls darken, and shadows cast in a way that looms over the entranceway to the only other room lighting a path. Her concentration shifts, as the walls wave, the changing flames of red, orange, yellow peel among the dark and feel like they’re closing in on them both, forcing them closer against their wills. 

Yang clears her throat. “Uh, yeah, first aid kit is in here.” She leads them into her room. 

The walk to Yang’s bedroom feels heavy. With Yang so close and her scent stronger, the smell of burning wood and citrus invades Blake’s senses with every greedy inhale she takes. Feeling wired, pangs of _something_ course through her. Yang’s room is kind of a mess but not really. It’s more home-y and lived in. 

There’s medical supplies, rags, and pain killers spread all out on top of Yang’s bed. No doubt Yang had done the best she could under the shitty circumstances. 

Yang wordlessly sits, legs spread, at the edge of her bed, she leans her elbows onto her knees and picks on an invisible piece of lint from her pants. 

Blake hasn’t even realized she’s been standing there staring until Yang’s eyes finally settle onto her. 

Blake fidgets, not entirely sure how to proceed, it’s weird how the setting is so charged when Yang is literally bleeding with an injury. She moves before her brain has time to catch up, standing to the side of Yang before reaching out to pull the old gauze away. 

A gasp leaves her mouth before she can stop herself. The wound was deep, certainly, a much bigger deal than Yang was letting on. Yang’s flesh was swollen and split apart, Blake can’t help but wonder how in the world Yang could even stand the pain. It all looked extremely painful, she grabs the damp rag and gently begins to wipe away the caked blood. She’s mindful of adding too much pressure, and when she tries to gauge Yang’s reaction, she’s completely still, seemingly unaffected. 

“This might sting, but I’ll try to be as quick as possible.” Blake doesn’t know why she’s whispering, but she’s cautious as if the sound of her voice would add unnecessary weight. 

Yang barely jolts, it’s subtle enough for Blake not to see but present enough to feel under her palms, the quick tension is gone the second she notices it. Blake makes an apologetic face at Yang who doesn't catch it. 

All in all, Yang is still as stone, aside from her playing and tugging with the loose threads on Blake’s distressed high waisted jeans, she doesn't move a muscle. Never flinches, never swears, or yelps. Even as Blake stitches the wound closed with steri-strips Yang takes the pain, with the repose of someone whose been hurt much worse before. If Blake ever thought about having to personify a word for Yang it’d be _strength_. 

Aside from the rustling of supplies, it’s insanely quiet. The question begs itself. 

“Why... did you take that mission?” Blake asks and taps Yang on the arm to let her know she’s finally finished. 

“You know why.” Yang’s response sounds like an afterthought as she rolls her shoulders and tests if she has full range of motion. Blake grimaces at the callousness, her eyes anchoring onto the yellow of Yang’s prosthetic. 

“The chance of survival was less than twenty percent,” Blake says. She had read the reports, ‘Infiltration as a double agent’, the assignment was basically a suicide mission with absolutely no chance of achievement. 

“Well, I figured the danger would keep me occupied,” Yang delivers like she hadn’t really come to a conclusion on why she packed her bags and decided to disappear halfway across the world for a month. “I needed a distraction from–” 

“ _Me_?” Blake finishes. 

Yang comes to a stand, reaches her hand out and Blake backs away. She wants to take back what she had said, cut the word away with the sharpest blade, shout lies until the truth is nothing more than a whisper because the look of guilt washes heavy over the contours of Yang’s face. 

Yang looks like she’s close to breaking, that the only way to fix all of this is if she’s honest with both of them. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from you. Especially after that night –then I saw you in the office... I _would_ have -- and we both agreed to... never again. I didn’t want that.” 

“You could have just stayed and told me. Instead of making me worry every day for a call about the operatives finding your body somewhere.” Blake admits, hugging herself and looking towards the ground. “You could have spared me everything I’ve felt this past month. All you had to do was stay.” 

Blake knows what all this means, how it sounds. Love is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all. And sometimes it’s sharp, and those corners thaw out and leave smooth edges that slip through her fingers like wilted petals. Love is –love is so fucking complicated. 

“I know,” Yang says, like it’s all she has. “I should have stayed.” 

Blake doesn’t say anything when Yang moves closer, doesn’t fight when Yang pulls her arms away from herself. Blake is careful not to let Yang know how much her words affect her. Because they do. She’s tired. Tired of running from the truth and pretending it hasn’t collapsed underneath the cracks. Bone tired like feeling empty and full all at once. 

Yang’s fingers cup her face, and it reminds Blake of that night, the mission where her life started all over again. Blood rushing through her veins and airway constricting, Yang searches Blake’s eyes, their lips hover where they are, inches apart, exchanging heavy puffs of breath like it’ll be their last. 

“Will you stay this time?” Blake whispers and her eyes hold Yang’s, too absorbed to move away and too hesitant to close the small distance between them. 

“I’ll never leave,” Yang confesses. 

Snaking a hand into the tangle of blond curls, Blake tugs Yang forward into a heated kiss, full of want and need. She tries to reveal all the things Yang makes her feel when they come together when they’re apart. The pain, the fury, the electricity, the ache, the perfection. 

Yang does that thing that Blake likes, tugging at her lower lip with her teeth before taking the briefest of seconds to shudder a pant of air against Blake’s cheek before finding her mouth again. It’s a dance, a breath of ash with fire that sparks in her chest. Yang’s hands slip to Blake’s hips, pulling harder and they start moving backward. 

They end up disorderly on the bed, Yang sitting upright on the mattress with Blake in her lap. Greedy fingers roam over Blake’s upper back, bared between the cotton of the black turtleneck she has on. Down, and back up under the fabric, splaying unrestricted across her shoulder blades. 

Blake moves in Yang’s lap, wrenching her mouth away from Yang’s, and she leans back to pull her sweater over her head. Yang watches, eyes hot, as she takes stock of all the skin suddenly on display. Yang waits, and in Blake’s mind it feels like forever until Yang lowers herself and places an open kiss on the fluttering pulse in Blake’s neck. 

Her eyes threaten to roll back in her head before they slide shut when Yang digs her fingers into the skin over her ribs, back arching when Yang drops her forehead to Blake’s collarbone, her lips skating over the tops of her breasts. Blake’s fingernails move to the back of Yang’s neck, dragging, holding her close like she needs Yang to become a part of her like a second skin. 

Blake’s hands go to Yang’s cheeks, pulling her as close as she possibly can, opening her mouth under Yang’s with a throaty moan. In the heat of it, Blake pushes forward and topples her body weight onto Yang, forcing her to lie her on her back, most of her weight unsteadily leans onto Yang’s shoulders and Yang pulls away with a hiss, her teeth bared and face twisted in pain. 

“Sorry. I – I didn’t mean to, um, hurt you... that was an accident.” Blake stutters, breathless and affected by the heat of it but still mentally scolding herself for her lack of caution. “Does it still hurt?” 

Yang sighs, probably thinking she’s ruined the moment. “I’m okay. It’s just a little sore.” She meets Blake’s gaze, confident. “I can take it.” 

It shouldn’t be sexy to her. The way Yang says those words. “...Maybe we shouldn’t.” 

That little bit of logic doesn’t do much to quell the onslaught of yearning attacking her. Blake feels her common sense being squashed down to a place in her head where it can be easily ignored, rapidly getting replaced by the same notions that started this entire situation. 

Yang shakes her head putting up a fight. “Blake, let me do this. Please let me have you.” She kisses Blake again, passion bringing life to an intoxicating lust Blake’s always known Yang’s had, only to be given small fragments of it she let it burn slow and ferocious. “Let me make you cum,” she begs. 

“Okay.” Blake gives in, shivering and trusting. 

Yang turns them over. 

____ 

Even with the injury, a shoulder split wide open Blake should have known. She shouldn’t have been surprised. 

She should have been sensible enough to know that Yang kept a strap-on in a box underneath her bed. She should have anticipated that Yang would have suggested they _use_ it. And now all it does is remind Blake about how everything about Yang Xiao Long is perfect. 

Blake gasps as Yang fills her. 

Streaming slowly across the arc of the sky, it’s a return, the face in the dash light closer and closer, like the approaching earth, until it’s all you can see. 

Sweat slicks their skin sets the room on fire. Blake’s soul is scorching. Her eyes torch bright yellow and smoldering. 

The world is spinning, blurring, moving, Blake jerks forward, her back arches like a bowstring pulled tautly. Her legs burn, her heart burns. Blake shivers on her hands and knees. One half lay in the sheets, bent elbows. The other half bottom up like a stretched-out cat. Yang fucks her from behind with deep needy strokes, her rhythm moves Blake on the mattress like she’s got bad hiccups. In and out. Up and down. 

Blake sighs out. Yang’s hands are like hot plates all over her body – breasts, hips, she’s pinned, and those hands burn her cold through layers. She needs Yang to go even faster, maybe even harder against her trembling thighs or else she thinks she might die. She whispers something through broken pants of air. It’s hard to experience desire while at the same time having no control over it. 

“Shh, I got you.” Hot and heavy and hunched over Yang groans in her ear, her teeth are sharp on Blake’s shoulder, indenting. The pit coils tighter burns brighter, the harder and faster she thrusts. 

Yang uses her body to weigh Blake down, her teeth to make Blake bend, and her hands to pull Blake where it feels good. 

_“Yang!”_ Her voice shakes, body shuddering. So tight. Too tight. That hot pressure builds, rising to the surface of her skin and radiating off her body. Blake knows she can’t take this any longer. 

And then everything boils over. Blake convulses, her vision clouded in a bright light and tiny spots of glitter like the shimmer on moving water. Blake can’t hear the noise she makes, but Yang loves it. The tone is sweet and high in octave and Yang, she’s never heard anything better. 

And the pieces that were once shattered, Yang had gathered them up and given them back to Blake all in the right order. How wild it was, to let it be. 

Yang breathes savagely before finally pulling out and rolling over tiredly onto her back. Blake sinks down back against the pillows. It takes Blake several minutes to catch her breath, and when she finally does, she sees Yang. Her eyes are half-asleep, glossy, and tame. She was beautiful. 

Blake smiles to herself, sheepishly pulling the bed sheets far past her shoulders and over her nose. 

Yang examines Blake, and under the covers she pulls her closer, runs a hand along the line of her back and down her legs. “You know I’m gonna have to write about this in my lengthy report.” She teasingly inches the covers down past Blake’s sternum. 

“Do that and I’ll personally finish the job for those guys.” She twists to lie more on her stomach and curl herself more into Yang. 

Yang just laughs, loudly and Blake’s heart soars, pounding against her ribcage. 

“I’ve known for a long time. How I felt about you.” Yang mutters barely above a whisper. She’s quiet and her focus is entirely on the ceiling fan above them. 

Blake’s eyes go wide as she stares at Yang, her nails sink into the bedsheets. “This sort of thing is frowned upon by the _company_. Maybe that’s why I denied it for so long.” The realization wears down on her, to know that she pushed away from something she could have had for a long time if she’d just been selfish for something she wanted. 

Yang turns her head to face Blake, who bites down on her bottom lip and meets Yang’s eyes, unsure. 

They’ll swallow your secrets until it's time to hand them over to the truths in the sky –the ones that draw maps in black. 

“Baby...” Yang trails, and smirks as she cups Blake’s jaw and kisses her soundless. “Denial is what got us here in the first place.” 

They carve their answers into the backs of their hands. 

And Blake learns how to breathe with pieces of her heart piercing in her lungs. 


End file.
